The Complete Celebrated Crimes by Alexander Dumas, Pere

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trouble. It was noticed that he appeared at intervals to be lost inprofound thought, that he yawned frequently, and continually drew hisfingers through his beard. He drank coffee and iced water severaltimes, incessantly looked at his watch, and taking his field-glass,surveyed by turns the camp, the castles of Janina, the Pindus range,and the peaceful waters of the lake. Occasionally he glanced at hisweapons, and then his eyes sparkled with the fire of youth and ofcourage. Stationed beside him, his guards prepared their cartridges,their eyes fixed on the landing-place.

The kiosk which he occupied was connected with a wooden structureraised upon pillars, like the open-air theatres constructed for apublic festival, and the women occupied the most remote apartments.Everything seemed sad and silent. The vizier, according to custom,sat facing the doorway, so as to be the first to perceive any whomight wish to enter. At five o'clock boats were seen approaching theisland, and soon Hassan Pacha, Omar Brionis, Kursheed's sword-bearer,Mehemet, the keeper of the wardrobe, and several officers of thearmy, attended by a numerous suite, drew near with gloomycountenances.

Seeing them approach, Ali sprang up impetuously, his hand upon thepistols in his belt. "Stand! . . . what is it you bring me?" hecried to Hassan in a voice of thunder. "I bring the commands of HisHighness the Sultan,--knowest thou not these august characters?" AndHassan exhibited the brilliantly gilded frontispiece which decoratedthe firman. "I know them and revere them." "Then bow before thydestiny; make thy ablutions; address thy prayer to Allah and to HisProphet; for thy, head is demanded. . . . " Ali did not allow himto finish. "My head," he cried with fury, "will not be surrenderedlike the head of a slave."

These rapidly pronounced words were instantly followed by apistol-shot which wounded Hassan in the thigh. Swift as lightning, asecond killed the keeper of the wardrobe, and the guards, firing atthe same time, brought down several officers. Terrified, theOsmanlis forsook the pavilion. Ali, perceiving blood flowing from awound in his chest, roared like a bull with rage. No one dared toface his wrath, but shots were fired at the kiosk from all sides, andfour of his guards fell dead beside him. He no longer knew which wayto turn, hearing the noise made by the assailants under the platform,who were firing through the boards on which he stood. A ball woundedhim in the side, another from below lodged in his spine; hestaggered, clung to a window, then fell on the sofa. "Hasten," hecried to one of his officers, "run, my friend, and strangle my poorBasilissa; let her not fall a prey to these infamous wretches."

The door opened, all resistance ceased, the guards hastened to escapeby the windows. Kursheed's sword-bearer entered, followed by theexecutioners. "Let the justice of Allah be accomplished!" said acadi. At these words the executioners seized Ali, who was stillalive, by the beard, and dragged him out into the porch, where,placing his head on one of the steps, they separated it from the bodywith many blows of a jagged cutlass. Thus ended the career of thedreaded Ali Pacha.

His head still preserved so terrible and imposing an aspect thatthose present beheld it with a sort of stupor. Kursheed, to whom itwas presented on a large dish of silver plate, rose to receive it,bowed three times before it, and respectfully kissed the beard,expressing aloud his wish that he himself might deserve a similarend. To such an extent did the admiration with which Ali's braveryinspired these barbarians efface the memory of his crimes. Kursheedordered the head to be perfumed with the most costly essences, anddespatched to Constantinople, and he allowed the Skipetars to renderthe last honours to their former master.

Never was seen greater mourning than that of the warlike Epirotes.During the whole night, the various Albanian tribes watched by turnsaround the corpse, improvising the most eloquent funeral songs in itshonour. At daybreak, the body, washed and prepared according to theMohammedan ritual, was deposited in a coffin draped with a splendidIndian Cashmere shawl, on which was placed a magnificent turban,adorned with the plumes Ali had worn in battle. The mane of hischarger was cut off, and the animal covered with purple housings,while Ali's shield, his sword, his numerous weapons, and variousinsignia, were borne on the saddles of several led horses. Thecortege proceeded towards the castle, accompanied by heartyimprecations uttered by the soldiers against the "Son of a Slave,"the epithet bestowed on their sultan by the Turks in seasons ofpopular excitement.

The Selaon-Aga, an officer appointed to render the proper salutes,acted as chief mourner, surrounded by weeping mourners, who made theruins of Janina echo with their lamentations. The guns were fired atlong intervals. The portcullis was raised to admit the procession,and the whole garrison, drawn up to receive it, rendered a militarysalute. The body, covered with matting, was laid in a grave besidethat of Amina. When the grave had been filled in, a priestapproached to listen to the supposed conflict between the good andbad angels, who dispute the possession of the soul of the deceased.When he at length announced that Ali Tepelen Zadi would repose inpeace amid celestial houris, the Skipetars, murmuring like the wavesof the sea after a tempest, dispersed to their quarters:

Kursheed, profiting by the night spent by the Epirotes in mourning,caused Ali's head to be en closed in a silver casket, and despatchedit secretly to Constantinople. His sword-bearer Mehemet, who, havingpresided at the execution, was entrusted with the further duty ofpresenting it to the sultan, was escorted by three hundred Turkishsoldiers. He was warned to be expeditious, and before dawn was wellout of reach of the Arnaouts, from whom a surprise might have beenfeared.

The Seraskier then ordered the unfortunate Basilissa, whose life hadbeen spared, to be brought before him. She threw herself at his feet,imploring him to spare, not her life, but her honour; and he consoledher, and assured her of the sultan's protection. She burst intotears when she beheld Ali's secretaries, treasurers, and stewardloaded with irons. Only sixty thousand purses (about twenty-fivemillion piastres) of Ali's treasure could be found, and already hisofficers had been tortured, in order to compel them to disclose wherethe rest might be concealed. Fearing a similar fate, Basilissa fellinsensible into the arms of her attendants, and she was removed tothe farm of Bouila, until the Supreme Porte should decide on herfate.

The couriers sent in all directions to announce the death of Ali,having preceded the sword-bearer Mehemet's triumphal procession, thelatter, on arriving at Greveno, found the whole population of thattown and the neighbouring hamlets assembled to meet him, eager tobehold the head of the terrible Ali Pacha. Unable to comprehend howhe could possibly have succumbed, they could hardly believe theireyes when the head was withdrawn from its casket and displayed beforethem. It remained exposed to view in the house of the Mussulman VeliAga whilst the escort partook of refreshment and changed horses, andas the public curiosity continued to increase throughout the journey,a fixed charge was at length made for its gratification, and the headof the renowned vizier was degraded into becoming an article oftraffic exhibited at every post-house, until it arrived atConstantinople.

The sight of this dreaded relic, exposed on the 23rd of February atthe gate of the seraglio, and the birth of an heir-presumptive to thesword of Othman--which news was announced simultaneously with that ofthe death of Ali, by the firing of the guns of the seraglio--rousedthe enthusiasm of the military inhabitants of Constantinople to astate of frenzy, and triumphant shouts greeted the appearance of adocument affixed to the head which narrated Ali's crimes and thecircumstances of his death, ending with these words: "This is theHead of the above-named Ali Pacha, a Traitor to the Faith of Islam."

Having sent magnificent presents to Kursheed, and a hyperbolicaldespatch to his army, Mahmoud II turned his attention to Asia Minor;where Ali's sons would probably have been forgotten in theirbanishment, had it not been supposed that their riches were great.A sultan does not condescend to mince matters with his slaves, whenhe can despoil them with impunity; His Supreme Highness simply sentthem his commands to die. Veli Pacha, a greater coward than awoman-slave born in the harem, heard his sentence kneeling. Thewretch who had, in his palace at Arta, danced to the strains of alively orchestra, while innocent victims were being tortured aroundhim, received the due reward of his crimes. He vainly embraced theknees of his executioners, imploring at least the favour of dying inprivacy; and he must have endured the full bitterness of death inseeing his sons strangled before his eyes, Mehemet the elder,remarkable, for his beauty, and the gentle Selim, whose merits mighthave procured the pardon of his family had not Fate ordainedotherwise. After next beholding the execution of his brother, SalikPacha, Ali's best loved son, whom a Georgian slave had borne to himin his old age, Veli, weeping, yielded his guilty head to theexecutioners.

His women were then seized, and the unhappy Zobeide, whose scandalousstory had even reached Constantinople, sewn up in a leather sack, wasflung into the Pursak--a river whose waters mingle with those of theSagaris. Katherin, Veli's other wife, and his daughters by variousmothers, were dragged to the bazaar and sold ignominiously toTurcoman shepherds, after which the executioners at once proceeded tomake an inventory of the spoils of their victims.

But the inheritance of Mouktar Pacha was not quite such an easy prey.The kapidgi-bachi who dared to present him with the bowstring wasinstantly laid dead at his feet by a pistol-shot. "Wretch!" criedMouktar, roaring like a bull escaped from the butcher, "dost thouthink an Arnaout dies like an eunuch? I also am a Tepelenian! Toarms, comrades! they would slay us!" As he spoke, he rushed, swordin hand, upon the Turks, and driving them back, succeeded inbarricading himself in his apartments.

Presently a troop of janissaries from Koutaieh, ordered to be inreadiness, advanced, hauling up cannon, and a stubborn combat began.Mouktar's frail defences were soon in splinters. The venerableMetche-Bono, father of Elmas Bey, faithful to the end, was killed bya bullet; and Mouktar, having slain a host of enemies with his ownhand and seen all his friends perish, himself riddled with wounds,set fire to the powder magazine, and died, leaving as inheritance forthe sultan only a heap of smoking ruins. An enviable fate, ifcompared with that of his father and brothers, who died by the handof the executioner.

The heads of Ali's children, sent to Constantinople and exposed atthe gate of the seraglio, astonished the gaping multitude. Thesultan himself, struck with the beauty of Mehemet and Selim, whoselong eyelashes and closed eyelids gave them the appearance ofbeautiful youths sunk in peaceful slumber, experienced a feeling ofemotion. "I had imagined them," he said stupidly, "to be quite asold as their father;" and he expressed sorrow for the fate to whichhe had condemned them.

CELEBRATED CRIMES VOLUME 7, Part 2

By Alexander Dumas, Pere

THE COUNTESS DE SAINT-GERAN

About the end of the year 1639, a troop of horsemen arrived, towardsmidday, in a little village at the northern extremity of the provinceof Auvergne, from the direction of Paris. The country folk assembledat the noise, and found it to proceed from the provost of the mountedpolice and his men. The heat was excessive, the horses were bathedin sweat, the horsemen covered with dust, and the party seemed on itsreturn from an important expedition. A man left the escort, andasked an old woman who was spinning at her door if there was not aninn in the place. The woman and her children showed him a bushhanging over a door at the end of the only street in the village, andthe escort recommenced its march at a walk. There was noticed, amongthe mounted men, a young man of distinguished appearance and richlydressed, who appeared to be a prisoner. This discovery redoubled thecuriosity of the villagers, who followed the cavalcade as far as thedoor of the wine-shop. The host came out, cap in hand, and theprovost enquired of him with a swaggering air if his pothouse waslarge enough to accommodate his troop, men and horses. The hostreplied that he had the best wine in the country to give to theking's servants, and that it would be easy to collect in theneighbourhood litter and forage enough for their horses. The provostlistened contemptuously to these fine promises, gave the necessaryorders as to what was to be done, and slid off his horse, uttering anoath proceeding from heat and fatigue. The horsemen clustered roundthe young man: one held his stirrup, and the provost deferentiallygave way to him to enter the inn first. No, more doubt could beentertained that he was a prisoner of importance, and all kinds ofconjectures were made. The men maintained that he must be chargedwith a great crime, otherwise a young nobleman of his rank wouldnever have been arrested; the women argued, on the contrary, that itwas impossible for such a pretty youth not to be innocent.

Inside the inn all was bustle: the serving-lads ran from cellar togarret; the host swore and despatched his servant-girls to theneighbours, and the hostess scolded her daughter, flattening her noseagainst the panes of a downstairs window to admire the handsomeyouth.

There were two tables in the principal eating-room. The provost tookpossession of one, leaving the other to the soldiers, who went inturn to tether their horses under a shed in the back yard; then hepointed to a stool for the prisoner, and seated himself opposite tohim, rapping the table with his thick cane.

"Ouf!" he cried, with a fresh groan of weariness, "I heartily begyour pardon, marquis, for the bad wine I am giving you!"

The young man smiled gaily.

"The wine is all very well, monsieur provost," said he, "but I cannotconceal from you that however agreeable your company is to me, thishalt is very inconvenient; I am in a hurry to get through myridiculous situation, and I should have liked to arrive in time tostop this affair at once."

The girl of the house was standing before the table with a pewter potwhich she had just brought, and at these words she raised her eyes onthe prisoner, with a reassured look which seemed to say, "I was surethat he was innocent."

"But," continued the marquis, carrying the glass to his lips, "thiswine is not so bad as you say, monsieur provost."

Then turning to the girl, who was eyeing his gloves and his ruff--

"To your health, pretty child."

"Then," said the provost, amazed at this free and easy air, "perhapsI shall have to beg you to excuse your sleeping quarters."

"What!" exclaimed the marquis, "do we sleep here?"

"My lord;" said the provost, "we have sixteen long leagues to make,our horses are done up, and so far as I am concerned I declare that Iam no better than my horse."

The marquis knocked on the table, and gave every indication of beinggreatly annoyed. The provost meanwhile puffed and blowed, stretchedout his big boots, and mopped his forehead with his handkerchief. Hewas a portly man, with a puffy face, whom fatigue rendered singularlyuncomfortable.

"Marquis," said he, "although your company, which affords me theopportunity of showing you some attention, is very precious to me,you cannot doubt that I had much rather enjoy it on another footing.If it be within your power, as you say, to release yourself from thehands of justice, the sooner you do so the better I shall be pleased.But I beg you to consider the state we are in. For my part, I amunfit to keep the saddle another hour, and are you not yourselfknocked up by this forced march in the great heat?"

"True, so I am," said the marquis, letting his arms fall by his side.

"Well, then, let us rest here, sup here, if we can, and we will startquite fit in the cool of the morning."

"Agreed," replied the marquis; "but then let us pass the time in abecoming manner. I have two pistoles left, let them be given tothese good fellows to drink. It is only fair that I should treatthem, seeing that I am the cause of giving them so much trouble."

He threw two pieces of money on the table of the soldiers, who criedin chorus, "Long live M. the marquis!" The provost rose, went topost sentinels, and then repaired to the kitchen, where he orderedthe best supper that could be got. The men pulled out dice and beganto drink and play. The marquis hummed an air in the middle of theroom, twirled his moustache, turning on his heel and lookingcautiously around; then he gently drew a purse from his trouserspocket, and as the daughter of the house was coming and going, hethrew his arms round her neck as if to kiss her, and whispered,slipping ten Louis into her hand--

"The key of the front door in my room, and a quart of liquor to thesentinels, and you save my life."

The girl went backwards nearly to the door, and returning with anexpressive look, made an affirmative sign with her hand. The provostreturned, and two hours later supper was served. He ate and dranklike a man more at home at table than in the saddle. The marquisplied him with bumpers, and sleepiness, added to the fumes of a veryheady wine, caused him to repeat over and over again--

"Confound it all, marquis, I can't believe you are such a blackguardas they say you are; you seem to me a jolly good sort."

The marquis thought he was ready to fall under the table, and wasbeginning to open negotiations with the daughter of the house, when,to his great disappointment, bedtime having come, the provokingprovost called his sergeant, gave him instructions in an undertone,and announced that he should have the honour of conducting M. themarquis to bed, and that he should not go to bed himself beforeperforming this duty. In fact, he posted three of his men, withtorches, escorted the prisoner to his room, and left him with manyprofound bows.

The marquis threw himself on his bed without pulling off his boots,listening to a clock which struck nine. He heard the men come and goin the stables and in the yard.

An hour later, everybody being tired, all was perfectly still. Theprisoner then rose softly, and felt about on tiptoe on thechimneypiece, on the furniture, and even in his clothes, for the keywhich he hoped to find. He could not find it. He could not bemistaken, nevertheless, in the tender interest of the young girl, andhe could not believe that she was deceiving him. The marquis's roomhad a window which opened upon the street, and a door which gaveaccess to a shabby gallery which did duty for a balcony, whence astaircase ascended to the principal rooms of the house. This galleryhung over the courtyard, being as high above it as the window wasfrom the street. The marquis had only to jump over one side or theother: he hesitated for some time, and just as he was deciding toleap into the street, at the risk of breaking his neck, two taps werestruck on the door. He jumped for joy, saying to himself as heopened, "I am saved!" A kind of shadow glided into the room; theyoung girl trembled from head to foot, and could not say a word. Themarquis reassured her with all sorts of caresses.

"Ah, sir," said she, "I am dead if we are surprised."

"Yes," said the marquis, "but your fortune is made if you get me outof here."

"God is my witness that I would with all my soul, but I have such abad piece of news----"

She stopped, suffocated with varying emotions. The poor girl hadcome barefooted, for fear of making a noise, and appeared to beshivering.

"What is the matter?" impatiently asked the marquis.

"Before going to bed," she continued, "M. the provost has requiredfrom my father all the keys of the house, and has made him take agreat oath that there are no more. My father has given him all:besides, there is a sentinel at every door; but they are very tired;I have heard them muttering and grumbling, and I have given them morewine than you told me."

"They will sleep," said the marquis, nowise discouraged, "and theyhave already shown great respect to my rank in not nailing me up inthis room."

"There is a small kitchen garden," continued the girl, "on the sideof the fields, fenced in only by a loose hurdle, but----"

"Where is my horse?"

"No doubt in the shed with the rest."

"I will jump into the yard."

"You will be killed."

"So much the better!"

"Ah monsieur marquis, what have, you done?" said the young girl withgrief.

"Some foolish things! nothing worth mentioning; but my head and myhonour are at stake. Let us lose no time; I have made up my mind."

"Stay," replied the girl, grasping his arm; "at the left-hand cornerof the yard there is a large heap of straw, the gallery hangs justover it--"

"Bravo! I shall make less noise, and do myself less mischief." Hemade a step towards the door; tie girl, hardly knowing what she wasdoing, tried to detain him; but he got loose from her and opened it.The moon was shining brightly into the yard; he heard no sound. Heproceeded to the end of the wooden rail, and perceived the dungheap,which rose to a good height: the girl made the sign of the cross.The marquis listened once again, heard nothing, and mounted the rail.He was about to jump down, when by wonderful luck he heard murmuringsfrom a deep voice. This proceeded from one of two horsemen, who wererecommencing their conversation and passing between them a pint ofwine. The marquis crept back to his door, holding his breath: thegirl was awaiting him on the threshold.

"I told you it was not yet time," said she.

"Have you never a knife," said the marquis, "to cut those rascals'throats with?"

"Wait, I entreat you, one hour, one hour only," murmured the younggirl; "in an hour they will all be asleep."

The girl's voice was so sweet, the arms which she stretched towardshim were full of such gentle entreaty, that the marquis waited, andat the end of an hour it was the young girl's turn to tell him tostart.

The marquis for the last time pressed with his mouth those lips butlately so innocent, then he half opened the door, and heard nothingthis time but dogs barking far away in an otherwise silent country.He leaned over the balustrade, and saw: very plainly a soldier lyingprone on the straw.

"If they were to awake?" murmured the young girl in accents ofanguish.

"They will not take me alive, be assured," said the marquis.

"Adieu, then," replied she, sobbing; "may Heaven preserve you!"

He bestrode the balustrade, spread himself out upon it, and fellheavily on the dungheap. The young girl saw him run to the shed,hastily detach a horse, pass behind the stable wall, spur his horsein both flanks, tear across the kitchen garden, drive his horseagainst the hurdle, knock it down, clear it, and reach the highroadacross the fields.

The poor girl remained at the end of the gallery, fixing her eyes onthe sleeping sentry, and ready to disappear at the slightestmovement. The noise made by spurs on the pavement and by the horseat the end of the courtyard had half awakened him. He rose, andsuspecting some surprise, ran to the shed. His horse was no longerthere; the marquis, in his haste to escape, had taken the first whichcame to hand, and this was the soldier's. Then the soldier gave thealarm; his comrades woke up. They ran to the prisoner's room, andfound it empty. The provost came from his bed in a dazed condition.The prisoner had escaped.

Then the young girl, pretending to have been roused by the noise,hindered the preparations by mislaying the saddlery, impeding thehorsemen instead of helping them; nevertheless, after a quarter of anhour, all the party were galloping along the road. The provost sworelike a pagan. The best horses led the way, and the sentinel, whorode the marquis's, and who had a greater interest in catching theprisoner, far outstripped his companions; he was followed by thesergeant, equally well mounted, and as the broken fence showed theline he had taken, after some minutes they were in view of him, butat a great distance. However, the marquis was losing ground; thehorse he had taken was the worst in the troop, and he had pressed itas hard as it could go. Turning in the saddle, he saw the soldiershalf a musket-shot off; he urged his horse more and more, tearing hissides with his spurs; but shortly the beast, completely winded.foundered; the marquis rolled with it in the dust, but when rollingover he caught hold of the holsters, which he found to containpistols; he lay flat by the side of the horse, as if he had fainted,with a pistol at full cock in his hand. The sentinel, mounted on avaluable horse, and more than two hundred yards ahead of hisserafile, came up to him. In a moment the marquis, jumping up beforehe had tune to resist him, shot him through the head; the horsemanfell, the marquis jumped up in his place without even setting foot inthe stirrup, started off at a gallop, and went away like the wind,leaving fifty yards behind him the non-commissioned officer,dumbfounded with what had just passed before his eyes.

The main body of the escort galloped up, thinking that he was taken;and the provost shouted till he was hoarse, "Do not kill him!" Butthey found only the sergeant, trying to restore life to his man,whose skull was shattered, and who lay dead on the spot.

As for the marquis, he was out of sight; for, fearing a freshpursuit, he had plunged into the cross roads, along which he rode agood hour longer at full gallop. When he felt pretty sure of havingshaken the police off his track, and that their bad horses could notovertake him, he determined to slacken to recruit his horse; he waswalking him along a hollow lane, when he saw a peasant approaching;he asked him the road to the Bourbonnais, and flung him a crown. Theman took the crown and pointed out the road, but he seemed hardly toknow what he was saying, and stared at the marquis in a strangemanner. The marquis shouted to him to get out of the way; but thepeasant remained planted on the roadside without stirring an inch.The marquis advanced with threatening looks, and asked how he daredto stare at him like that.

"The reason is," said the peasant, "that you have----", and hepointed to his shoulder and his ruff.

The marquis glanced at his dress, and saw that his coat was dabbledin blood, which, added to the disorder of his clothes and the dustwith which he was covered, gave him a most suspicious aspect.

"I know," said he. "I and my servant have been separated in ascuffle with some drunken Germans; it's only a tipsy spree, andwhether I have got scratched, or whether in collaring one of thesefellows I have drawn some of his blood, it all arises from the row.I don't think I am hurt a bit." So saying, he pretended to feel allover his body.

"All the same," he continued, "I should not be sorry to have a wash;besides, I am dying with thirst and heat, and my horse is in nobetter case. Do you know where I can rest and refresh myself?"

The peasant offered to guide him to his own house, only a few yardsoff. His wife and children, who were working, respectfully stoodaside, and went to collect what was wanted--wine, water, fruit, and alarge piece of black bread. The marquis sponged his coat, drank aglass of wine, and called the people of the house, whom he questionedin an indifferent manner. He once more informed himself of thedifferent roads leading into the Bourbonnais province, where he wasgoing to visit a relative; of the villages, cross roads, distances;and finally he spoke of the country, the harvest, and asked what newsthere was.

The peasant replied, with regard to this, that it was surprising tohear of disturbances on the highway at this moment, when it waspatrolled by detachments of mounted police, who had just made animportant capture.

"Who is that?--" asked the marquis.

"Oh," said the peasant, "a nobleman who has done a lot of mischief inthe country."

As this news was not encouraging, the marquis, after a few morequestions, saw to his horse, patted him, threw some more money to thepeasant, and disappeared in the direction pointed out.

The provost proceeded half a league farther along the road; butcoming to the conclusion that pursuit was useless, he sent one of hismen to headquarters, to warn all the points of exit from theprovince, and himself returned with his troop to the place whence hehad started in the morning. The marquis had relatives in theneighbourhood, and it was quite possible that he might seek shelterwith some of them. All the village ran to meet the horsemen, whowere obliged to confess that they had been duped by the handsomeprisoner. Different views were expressed on the event, which gaverise to much talking. The provost entered the inn, banging his fiston the furniture, and blaming everybody for the misfortune which hadhappened to him. The daughter of the house, at first a prey to themost grievous anxiety, had great difficulty in concealing her joy.

The provost spread his papers over the table, as if to nurse hisill-temper.

"The biggest rascal in the world!" he cried; "I ought to havesuspected him."

"What a handsome man he was!" said the hostess.

"A consummate rascal! Do you know who he is? He is the Marquis deSaint-Maixent!"

"The Marquis de Saint-Maixent!" all cried with horror.

"Yes, the very man," replied the provost; "the Marquis deSaint-Maixent, accused, and indeed convicted, of coining and magic."

"Ah!"

"Convicted of incest."

"O my God!"

"Convicted of having strangled his wife to marry another, whosehusband he had first stabbed."

"Heaven help us!" All crossed themselves.

"Yes, good people," continued the furious provost, "this is the niceboy who has just escaped the king's justice!"

The host's daughter left the room, for she felt she was going tofaint.

"But," said the host, "is there no hope of catching him again?"

"Not the slightest, if he has taken the road to the Bourbonnais; forI believe there are in that province noblemen belonging to his familywho will not allow him to be rearrested."

The fugitive was, indeed, no other than the Marquis de Saint-Maixent,accused of all the enormous crimes detailed by the provost, who byhis audacious flight opened for himself an active part in the strangestory which it remains to relate.

It came to pass, a fortnight after these events, that a mountedgentleman rang at the wicket gate of the chateau de Saint-Geran, atthe gates of Moulins. It was late, and the servants were in no hurryto open. The stranger again pulled the bell in a masterful manner,and at length perceived a man running from the bottom of the avenue.The servant peered through the wicket, and making out in the twilighta very ill-appointed traveller, with a crushed hat, dusty clothes,and no sword, asked him what he wanted, receiving a blunt reply thatthe stranger wished to see the Count de Saint-Geran without anyfurther loss of time. The servant replied that this was impossible;the other got into a passion.

"Who are you?" asked the man in livery.

"You are a very ceremonious fellow!" cried the horseman. "Go and tellM. de Saint-Geran that his relative, the Marquis de Saint-Maixent,wishes to see him at once."

The servant made humble apologies, and opened the wicket gate. Hethen walked before the marquis, called other servants, who came tohelp him to dismount, and ran to give his name in the count'sapartments. The latter was about to sit down to supper when hisrelative was announced; he immediately went to receive the marquis,embraced him again and again, and gave him the most friendly andgracious reception possible. He wished then to take him into thedining-room to present him to all the family; but the marquis calledhis attention to the disorder of his dress, and begged for a fewminutes' conversation. The count took him into his dressing-room,and had him dressed from head to foot in his own clothes, whilst theytalked. The marquis then narrated a made-up story to M. deSaint-Geran relative to the accusation brought against him. Thisgreatly impressed his relative, and gave him a secure footing in thechateau. When he had finished dressing, he followed the count, whopresented him to the countess and the rest of the family.

It will now be in place to state who the inmates of the chateau were,and to relate some previous occurrences to explain subsequent ones.

The Marshal de Saint-Geran, of the illustrious house of Guiche, andgovernor of the Bourbonnais, had married, for his first wife, Anne deTournon, by whom he had one son, Claude de la Guiche, and onedaughter, who married the Marquis de Bouille. His wife dying, hemarried again with Suzanne des Epaules, who had also been previouslymarried, being the widow of the Count de Longaunay, by whom she hadSuzanne de Longaunay.

The marshal and his wife, Suzanne des Epauies, for the mutual benefitof their children by first nuptials, determined to marry them, thussealing their own union with a double tie. Claude de Guiche, themarshal's son, married Suzanne de Longaunay.

This alliance was much to the distaste of the Marchioness de Bouille,the marshal's daughter, who found herself separated from herstepmother, and married to a man who, it was said, gave her greatcause for complaint, the greatest being his threescore years and ten.

The contract of marriage between Claude de la Guiche and Suzanne deLongaunay was executed at Rouen on the 17th of February 1619; but thetender age of the bridegroom, who was then but eighteen, was thecause of his taking a tour in Italy, whence he returned after twoyears. The marriage was a very happy one but for onecircumstance--it produced no issue. The countess could not endure abarrenness which threatened the end of a great name, the extinctionof a noble race. She made vows, pilgrimages; she consulted doctorsand quacks; but to no purpose.

The Marshal de Saint-Geran died on the Loth of December 1632, havingthe mortification of having seen no descending issue from themarriage of his son. The latter, now Count de Saint-Geran, succeededhis father in the government of the Bourbonnais, and was namedChevalier of the King's Orders.

Meanwhile the Marchioness de Bouille quarrelled with her old husbandthe marquis, separated from him after a scandalous divorce, and cameto live at the chateau of Saint-Geran, quite at ease as to herbrother's marriage, seeing that in default of heirs all his propertywould revert to her.

Such was the state of affairs when the Marquis de Saint-Maixentarrived at the chateau. He was young, handsome, very cunning, andvery successful with women; he even made a conquest of the dowagerCountess de Saint-Geran, who lived there with her children. He soonplainly saw that he might easily enter into the most intimaterelations with the Marchioness de Bouille.

The Marquis de Saint-Maixent's own fortune was much impaired by hisextravagance and by the exactions of the law, or rather, in plainwords, he had lost it all. The marchioness was heiress presumptiveto the count: he calculated that she would soon lose her own husband;in any case, the life of a septuagenarian did not much trouble a manlike the marquis; he could then prevail upon the marchioness to marryhim, thus giving him the command of the finest fortune in theprovince.

He set to work to pay his court to her, especially avoiding anythingthat could excite the slightest suspicion. It was, however,difficult to get on good terms with the marchioness without showingoutsiders what was going on. But the marchioness, alreadyprepossessed by the agreeable exterior of M. de Saint-Maixent, soonfell into his toils, and the unhappiness of her marriage, with theannoyances incidental to a scandalous case in the courts, left herpowerless to resist his schemes. Nevertheless, they had but fewopportunities of seeing one' another alone: the countess innocentlytook a part in all their conversations; the count often came to takethe marquis out hunting; the days passed in family pursuits. M. deSaint-Maixent had not so far had an opportunity of saying what adiscreet woman ought to pretend not to hear; this intrigue,notwithstanding the marquis's impatience, dragged terribly.

The countess, as has been stated, had for twenty years never ceasedto hope that her prayers would procure for her the grace of bearing ason to her husband. Out of sheer weariness she had given herself upto all kinds of charlatans, who at that period were well received bypeople of rank. On one occasion she brought from Italy a sort ofastrologer, who as nearly as possible poisoned her with a horriblenostrum, and was sent back to his own country in a hurry, thankinghis stars for having escaped so cheaply. This procured Madame deSaint-Geran a severe reprimand from her confessor; and, as time wenton, she gradually accustomed herself to the painful conclusion thatshe would die childless, and cast herself into the arms of religion.The count, whose tenderness for her never failed, yet clung to thehope of an heir, and made his Will with this in view. Themarchioness's hopes had become certainties, and M. de Saint-Maixent,perfectly tranquil on this head, thought only of forwarding his suitwith Madame-de Bouille, when, at the end of the month of November1640, the Count de Saint-Geran was obliged to repair to Paris ingreat haste on pressing duty.

The countess, who could not bear to be separated from her husband,took the family advice as to accompanying him. The marquis,delighted at an opportunity which left him almost alone in thechateau with Madame de Bouille, painted the journey to Paris in themost attractive colours, and said all he could to decide her to go.The marchioness, for her part, worked very quietly to the same end;it was more than was needed. It was settled that the countess shouldgo with M. de Saint-Geran. She soon made her preparations, and a fewdays later they set off on the journey together.

The marquis had no fears about declaring his passion; the conquest ofMadame de Bouille gave him no trouble; he affected the most violentlove, and she responded in the same terms. All their time was spentin excursions and walks from, which the servants were excluded; thelovers, always together, passed whole days in some retired part ofthe park, or shut up in their apartments. It was impossible forthese circumstances not to cause gossip among an army of servants,against whom they had to keep incessantly on their guard; and thisnaturally happened.

The marchioness soon found herself obliged to make confidantes of thesisters Quinet, her maids; she had no difficulty in gaining theirsupport, for the girls were greatly attached to her. This was thefirst step of shame for Madame de Bouille, and the first step ofcorruption for herself and her paramour, who soon found themselvesentangled in the blackest of plots. Moreover, there was at thechateau de Saint-Geran a tall, spare, yellow, stupid man, justintelligent enough to perform, if not to conceive, a bad action, whowas placed in authority over the domestics; he was a common peasantwhom the old marshal had deigned to notice, and whom the count had bydegrees promoted to the service of major-domo on account of his longservice in the house, and because he had seen him there since hehimself was a child; he would not take him away as body servant,fearing that his notions of service would not do for Paris, and lefthim to the superintendence of the household. The marquis had a quiettalk with this man, took his measure, warped his mind as he wished,gave him some money, and acquired him body and soul. These differentagents undertook to stop the chatter of the servants' hall, andthenceforward the lovers could enjoy free intercourse.

One evening, as the Marquis de Saint-Maixent was at supper in companywith the marchioness, a loud knocking was heard at the gate of thechateau, to which they paid no great attention. This was followed bythe appearance of a courier who had come post haste from Paris; heentered the courtyard with a letter from the Count de Saint-Geran forM. the marquis; he was announced and introduced, followed by nearlyall the household. The marquis asked the meaning of all this, anddismissed all the following with a wave of the hand; but the courierexplained that M. the count desired that the letter in his handsshould be read before everyone. The marquis opened it withoutreplying, glanced over it, and read it out loud without the slightestalteration: the count announced to his good relations and to all hishousehold that the countess had indicated positive symptoms ofpregnancy; that hardly had she arrived in Paris when she sufferedfrom fainting fits, nausea, retching, that she bore with joy thesepremonitory indications, which were no longer a matter of doubt tothe physicians, nor to anyone; that for his part he was overwhelmedwith joy at this event, which was the crowning stroke to all hiswishes; that he desired the chateau to share his satisfaction byindulging in all kinds of gaieties; and that so far as other matterswere concerned they could remain as they were till the return ofhimself and the countess, which the letter would precede only a fewdays, as he was going to transport her in a litter for greatersafety. Then followed the specification of certain sums of money tobe distributed among the servants.

The servants uttered cries of joy; the marquis and marchionessexchanged a look, but a very troublous one; they, however, restrainedthemselves so far as to simulate a great satisfaction, and themarquis brought himself to congratulate the servants on theirattachment to their master and mistress. After this they were leftalone, looking very serious, while crackers exploded and violinsresounded under the windows. For some time they preserved silence,the first thought which occurred to both being that the count andcountess had allowed themselves to be deceived by trifling symptoms,that people had wished to flatter their hopes, that it was impossiblefor a constitution to change so suddenly after twenty years, and thatit was a case of simulative pregnancy. This opinion gaining strengthin their minds made them somewhat calmer.

The next day they took a walk side by side in a solitary path in thepark and discussed the chances of their situation. M. deSaint-Maixent brought before the marchioness the enormous injurywhich this event would bring them. He then said that even supposingthe news to be true, there were many rocks ahead to be weatheredbefore the succession could be pronounced secure.

"The child may die," he said at last.

And he uttered some sinister expressions on the slight damage causedby the loss of a puny creature without mind, interest, orconsequence; nothing, he said, but a bit of ill-organised matter,which only came into the world to ruin so considerable a person asthe marchioness.

"But what is the use of tormenting ourselves?" he went onimpatiently; "the countess is not pregnant, nor can she be."

A gardener working near them overheard this part of the conversation,but as they walked away from him he could not hear any more.

A few days later, some outriders, sent before him by the count,entered the chateau, saying that their master and mistress were closeat hand. In fact, they were promptly followed by brakes andtravelling-carriages, and at length the countess's litter wasdescried, which M. de Saint-Geran, on horse back, had never lostsight of during the journey. It was a triumphal reception: all thepeasants had left their work, and filled the air with shouts ofwelcome; the servants ran to meet their mistress; the ancientretainers wept for joy at seeing the count so happy and in the hopethat his noble qualities might be perpetuated in his heir. Themarquis and Madame de Bouille did their best to tune up to the pitchof this hilarity.

The dowager countess, who had arrived at the chateau the same day,unable to convince herself as to this news, had the pleasure ofsatisfying her self respecting it. The count and countess were muchbeloved in the Bourbonnais province; this event caused therein ageneral satisfaction, particularly in the numerous houses attached tothem by consanguinity. Within a few days of their return, more thantwenty ladies of quality flocked to visit them in great haste, toshow the great interest they took in this pregnancy. All theseladies, on one occasion or another, convinced themselves as to itsgenuineness, and many of them, carrying the subject still further, ina joking manner which pleased the countess, dubbed themselvesprophetesses, and predicted the birth of a boy. The usual symptomsincidental to the situation left no room for doubt: the countryphysicians were all agreed. The count kept one of these physicians inthe chateau for two months, and spoke to the Marquis of Saint-Maixent of his intention of procuring a good mid-wife, on the sameterms. Finally, the dowager countess, who was to be sponsor, orderedat a great expense a magnificent store of baby linen, which shedesired to present at the birth.

The marchioness devoured her rage, and among the persons who wentbeside themselves with joy not one remarked the disappointment whichoverspread her soul. Every day she saw the marquis, who did all hecould to increase her regret, and incessantly stirred up herill-humour by repeating that the count and countess were triumphingover her misfortune, and insinuating that they were importing asupposititious child to disinherit her. As usual both in private andpolitical affairs, he began by corrupting the marchioness's religiousviews, to pervert her into crime. The marquis was one of thoselibertines so rare at that time, a period less unhappy than isgenerally believed, who made science dependent upon, atheism. It isremarkable that great criminals of this epoch, Sainte-Croix forinstance, and Exili, the gloomy poisoner, were the first unbelievers,and that they preceded the learned of the following age both, inphilosophy and in the exclusive study of physical science, in whichthey included that of poisons. Passion, interest, hatred fought themarquis's battles in the heart of Madame de Bouille; she readily lentherself to everything that M. de Saint-Maixent wished.

The Marquis de Saint-Maixent had a confidential servant, cunning,insolent, resourceful, whom he had brought from his estates, aservant well suited to such a master, whom he sent on errandsfrequently into the neighbourhood of Saint-Geran.

One evening, as the marquis was about to go to bed, this man,returning from one of his expeditions, entered his room, where heremained for a long time, telling him that he had at length foundwhat he wanted, and giving him a small piece of paper which containedseveral names of places and persons.

Next morning, at daybreak, the marquis caused two of his horses to besaddled, pretended that he was summoned home on pressing business,foresaw that he should be absent for three or four days, made hisexcuses to the count, and set off at full gallop, followed by hisservant.

They slept that night at an inn on the road to Auvergne, to put offthe scent any persons who might recognise them; then, followingcross-country roads, they arrived after two days at a large hamlet,which they had seemed to have passed far to their left.

In this hamlet was a woman who practised the avocation of midwife,and was known as such in the neighbourhood, but who had, it was said,mysterious and infamous secrets for those who paid her well.Further, she drew a good income from the influence which her art gaveher over credulous people. It was all in her line to cure the king'sevil, compound philtres and love potions; she was useful in a varietyof ways to girls who could afford to pay her; she was a lovers'go-between, and even practised sorcery for country folk. She playedher cards so well, that the only persons privy to her misdeeds wereunfortunate creatures who had as strong an interest as herself inkeeping them profoundly secret; and as her terms were very high, shelived comfortably enough in a house her own property, and entirelyalone, for greater security. In a general way, she was consideredskilful in her ostensible profession, and was held in estimation bymany persons of rank. This woman's name was Louise Goillard.

Alone one evening after curfew, she heard a loud knocking at the doorof her house. Accustomed to receive visits at all hours, she tookher lamp without hesitation, and opened the door. An armed man,apparently much agitated, entered the room. Louise Goillard, in agreat fright, fell into a chair; this man was the Marquis deSaint-Maixent.

"Calm yourself, good woman," said the stranger, panting andstammering; "be calm, I beg; for it is I, not you, who have any causefor emotion. I am not a brigand, and far from your having anythingto fear, it is I, on the contrary, who am come to beg for yourassistance."

He threw his cloak into a corner, unbuckled his waistbelt, and laidaside his sword. Then falling into a chair, he said--

"First of all, let me rest a little."

The marquis wore a travelling-dress; but although he had not statedhis name, Louise Goillard saw at a glance that he was a verydifferent person from what she had thought, and that, on thecontrary, he was some fine gentleman who had come on his loveaffairs.

"I beg you to excuse," said she, "a fear which is insulting to you.You came in so hurriedly that I had not time to see whom I wastalking to. My house is rather lonely; I am alone; ill-disposedpeople might easily take advantage of these circumstances to plundera poor woman who has little enough to lose. The times are so bad!You seem tired. Will you inhale some essence?"

"Give me only a glass of water."

Louise Goillard went into the adjoining room, and returned with anewer. The marquis affected to rinse his lips, and said--

"I come from a great distance on a most important matter. Be assuredthat I shall be properly grateful for your services."

He felt in his pocket, and pulled out a purse, which he rolledbetween his fingers.

"In the first place; you must swear to the greatest secrecy."

"There is no need of that with us," said Louise Goillard; "that isthe first condition of our craft."

"I must have more express guarantees, and your oath that you willreveal to no one in the world what I am going to confide to you."

"I give you my word, then, since you demand it; but I repeat thatthis is superfluous; you do not know me."

"Consider that this is a most serious matter, that I am as it wereplacing my head in your hands, and that I would lose my life athousand times rather than see this mystery unravelled."

"Consider also," bluntly replied the midwife, "that we ourselves areprimarily interested in all the secrets entrusted to us; that anindiscretion would destroy all confidence in us, and that there areeven cases----You may speak."

When the marquis had reassured her as to himself by this preface, hecontinued: "I know that you are a very able woman."

"I could indeed wish to be one, to serve you.".

"That you have pushed the study of your art to its utmost limits."

"I fear they have been flattering your humble servant."

"And that your studies have enabled you to predict the future."

"That is all nonsense."

"It is true; I have been told so."

"You have been imposed upon."

"What is the use of denying it and refusing to do me a service?"

Louise Goillard defended herself long: she could not understand a manof this quality believing in fortune-telling, which she practisedonly with low-class people and rich farmers; but the marquis appearedso earnest that she knew not what to think.

"Listen," said he, "it is no use dissembling with me, I know all. Beeasy; we are playing a game in which you are laying one against athousand; moreover, here is something on account to compensate youfor the trouble I am giving."

He laid a pile of gold on the table. The matron weakly owned thatshe had sometimes attempted astrological combinations which were notalways fortunate, and that she had been only induced to do so by thefascination of the phenomena of science. The secret of her guiltypractices was drawn from her at the very outset of her defence.

"That being so," replied the marquis, "you must be already aware ofthe situation in which I find myself; you must know that, hurriedaway by a blind and ardent passion, I have betrayed the confidence ofan old lady and violated the laws of hospitality by seducing herdaughter in her own house; that matters have come to a crisis, andthat this noble damsel, whom I Love to distraction, being pregnant,is on the point of losing her life and honour by the discovery of herfault, which is mine."

The matron replied that nothing could be ascertained about a personexcept from private questions; and to further impose upon themarquis, she fetched a kind of box marked with figures and strangeemblems. Opening this, and putting together certain figures which itcontained, she declared that what the marquis had told her was true,and that his situation was a most melancholy one. She added, inorder to frighten him, that he was threatened by still more seriousmisfortunes than those which had already overtaken him, but that itwas easy to anticipate and obviate these mischances by newconsultations.

"Madame," replied the marquis, "I fear only one thing in the world,the dishonour of the woman I love. Is there no method of remedyingthe usual embarrassment of a birth?"

"I know of none," said the matron.

"The young lady has succeeded in concealing her condition; it wouldbe easy for her confinement to take place privately."

"She has already risked her life; and I cannot consent to be mixed upin this affair, for fear of the consequences."

"Could not, for instance," said the marquis, "a confinement beeffected without pain?"

"I don't know about that, but this I do" know, that I shall take verygood care not to practise any method contrary to the laws of nature."

"You are deceiving me: you are acquainted with this method, you havealready practised it upon a certain person whom I could name to you."

"Who has dared to calumniate me thus? I operate only after thedecision of the Faculty. God forbid that I should be stoned by allthe physicians, and perhaps expelled from France!"

"Will you then let me die of despair? If I were capable of making abad use of your secrets, I could have done so long ago, for I knowthem. In Heaven's name, do not dissimulate any longer, and tell mehow it is possible to stifle the pangs of labour. Do you want moregold? Here it is." And he threw more Louis on the table.

"Stay," said the matron: "there is perhaps a method which I think Ihave discovered, and which I have never employed, but I believe itefficacious."

"But if you have never employed it, it may be dangerous, and risk thelife of the lady whom I love."

"When I say never, I mean that I have tried it once, and mostsuccessfully. Be at your ease."

"Ah!" cried the marquis, "you have earned my everlasting gratitude!But," continued he, "if we could anticipate the confinement itself,and remove from henceforth the symptoms of pregnancy?"

"Oh, sir, that is a great crime you speak of!"

"Alas!" continued the marquis, as if speaking to himself in a fit ofintense grief; "I had rather lose a dear child, the pledge of ourlove, than bring into the world an unhappy creature which mightpossibly cause its mother's death."

"I pray you, sir, let no more be said on the subject; it is ahorrible crime even to think of such a thing."

"But what is to be done? Is it better to destroy two persons andperhaps kill a whole family with despair? Oh, madame, I entreat you,extricate us from this extremity!"

The marquis buried his face in his hands, and sobbed as though hewere weeping copiously.

"Your despair grievously affects me," said the matron; "but considerthat for a woman of my calling it is a capital offence."

"What are you talking about? Do not our mystery, our safety, and ourcredit come in first?

"They can never get at you till after the death and dishonour of allthat is dear to me in the world."

"I might then, perhaps. But in this case you must insure me againstlegal complications, fines, and procure me a safe exit from thekingdom."

"Ah! that is my affair. Take my whole fortune! Take my life!"

And he threw the whole purse on the table.

"In this case, and solely to extricate you from the extreme danger inwhich I see you placed, I consent to give you a decoction, andcertain instructions, which will instantly relieve the lady from herburden. She must use the greatest precaution, and study to carry outexactly what I am about to tell you. My God! only such desperateoccasions as this one could induce me to---- Here----"

She took a flask from the bottom of a cupboard, and continued--

"Here is a liquor which never fails."

"Oh, madame, you save my honour, which is dearer to me than life!But this is not enough: tell me what use I am to make of this liquor,and in what doses I am to administer it."

"The patient," replied the midwife, "must take one spoonful the firstday; the second day two; the third----"

"You will obey me to the minutest particular?"

"I swear it."

"Let us start, then."

She asked but for time to pack a little linen, put things in order,then fastened her doors, and left the house with the marquis.A quarter of an hour later they were galloping through the night,without her knowing where the marquis was taking her.

The marquis reappeared three days later at the chateau, finding thecount's family as he had left them--that is to say, intoxicated withhope, and counting the weeks, days, and hours before the accouchementof the countess. He excused his hurried departure on the ground ofthe importance of the business which had summoned him away; andspeaking of his journey at table, he related a story current in thecountry whence he came, of a surprising event which he had all butwitnessed. It was the case of a lady of quality who suddenly foundherself in the most dangerous pangs of labour. All the skill of thephysicians who had been summoned proved futile; the lady was at thepoint of death; at last, in sheer despair, they summoned a midwife ofgreat repute among the peasantry, but whose practice did not includethe gentry. From the first treatment of this woman, who appearedmodest and diffident to a degree, the pains ceased as if byenchantment; the patient fell into an indefinable calm languor, andafter some hours was delivered of a beautiful infant; but after thiswas attacked by a violent fever which brought her to death's door.They then again had recourse to the doctors, notwithstanding theopposition of the master of the house, who had confidence in thematron. The doctors' treatment only made matters worse. In thisextremity they again called in the midwife, and at the end of threeweeks the lady was miraculously restored to life, thus, added themarquis, establishing the reputation of the matron, who had sprunginto such vogue in the town where she lived and the neighbouringcountry that nothing else was talked about.

This story made a great impression on the company, on account of thecondition of the countess; the dowager added that it was very wrongto ridicule these humble country experts, who often throughobservation and experience discovered secrets which proud doctorswere unable to unravel with all their studies. Hereupon the countcried out that this midwife must be sent for, as she was just thekind of woman they wanted. After this other matters were talkedabout, the marquis changing the conversation; he had gained his pointin quietly introducing the thin end of the wedge of his design.

After dinner, the company walked on the terrace. The countessdowager not being able to walk much on account of her advanced age,the countess and Madame de Bouille took chairs beside her. The countwalked up and down with M. de Saint-Maixent. The marquis naturallyasked how things had been going on during his absence, and if Madamede Saint-Geran had suffered any inconvenience, for her pregnancy hadbecome the most important affair in the household, and hardlyanything else was talked about.

"By the way," said the count, "you were speaking just now of a veryskilful midwife; would it not be a good step to summon her?"

"I think," replied the marquis, "that it would be an excellentselection, for I do not suppose there is one in this neighbourhood tocompare to her."

"I have a great mind to send for her at once, and to keep her aboutthe countess, whose constitution she will be all the betteracquainted with if she studies it beforehand. Do you know where Ican send for her?"

"Faith," said the marquis, "she lives in a village, but I don't knowwhich."

"I heard the story, that's all. Who the deuce can keep a name in hishead which he hears in such a chance fashion?"

"But did the condition of the countess never occur to you?"

"It was so far away that I did not suppose you would send such adistance. I thought you were already provided."

"How can we set about to find her?"

"If that is all, I have a servant who knows people in that part ofthe country, and who knows how to go about things: if you like, heshall go in quest of her."

"If I like? This very moment."

The same evening the servant started on his errand with the count'sinstructions, not forgetting those of his master. He went at fullspeed. It may readily be supposed that he had not far to seek thewoman he was to bring back with him; but he purposely kept away forthree days, and at the end of this time Louise Goillard was installedin the chateau.

She was a woman of plain and severe exterior, who at once inspiredconfidence in everyone. The plots of the marquis and Madame deBouille thus throve with most baneful success; but an accidenthappened which threatened to nullify them, and, by causing a greatdisaster, to prevent a crime.

The countess, passing into her apartments, caught her foot in acarpet, and fell heavily on the floor. At the cries of a footman allthe household was astir. The countess was carried to bed; the mostintense alarm prevailed; but no bad consequences followed thisaccident, which produced only a further succession of visits from theneighbouring gentry. This happened about the end of the seventhmonth.

At length the moment of accouchement came. Everything had longbefore been arranged for the delivery, and nothing remained to bedone. The marquis had employed all this time in strengthening Madamede Bouille against her scruples. He often saw Louise Goillard inprivate, and gave her his instructions; but he perceived that thecorruption of Baulieu, the house steward, was an essential factor.Baulieu was already half gained over by the interviews of the yearpreceding; a large sum of ready money and many promises did the rest.This wretch was not ashamed to join a plot against a master to whomhe owed everything. The marchioness for her part, and always underthe instigation of M. de Saint-Maixent, secured matters all round bybringing into the abominable plot the Quinet girls, her maids; sothat there was nothing but treason and conspiracy against this worthyfamily among their upper servants, usually styled confidential.Thus, having prepared matters, the conspirators awaited the event.

On the 16th of August the Countess de Saint-Geran was overtakenby the pangs of labour in the chapel of the chateau, where she washearing mass. They carried her to her room before mass was over, herwomen ran around her, and the countess dowager with her own handsarranged on her head a cap of the pattern worn by ladies about to beconfined--a cap which is not usually removed till some time later.

The pains recurred with terrible intensity. The count wept at hiswife's cries. Many persons were present. The dowager's twodaughters by her second marriage, one of whom, then sixteen years ofage, afterwards married the Duke de Ventadour and was a party to thelawsuit, wished to be present at this accouchement, which was toperpetuate by a new scion an illustrious race near extinction. Therewere also Dame Saligny, sister of the late Marshal Saint-Geran, theMarquis de Saint-Maixent, and the Marchioness de Bouille.

Everything seemed to favour the projects of these last two persons,who took an interest in the event of a very different character fromthat generally felt. As the pains produced no result, and theaccouchement was of the most difficult nature, while the countess wasnear the last extremity, expresses were sent to all the neighbouringparishes to offer prayers for the mother and the child; the HolySacrament was elevated in the churches at Moulins.

The midwife attended to everything herself. She maintained that thecountess would be more comfortable if her slightest desires wereinstantly complied with. The countess herself never spoke a word,only interrupting the gloomy silence by heart-rending cries. A11 atonce, Madame de Boulle, who affected to be bustling about, pointedout that the presence of so many persons was what hindered thecountess's accouchement, and, assuming an air of authority justifiedby fictitious tenderness, said that everyone must retire, leaving thepatient in the hands of the persons who were absolutely necessary toher, and that, to remove any possible objections, the countessdowager her mother must set the example. The opportunity was madeuse of to remove the count from this harrowing spectacle, andeveryone followed the countess dowager. Even the countess's ownmaids were not allowed to remain, being sent on errands which keptthem out of the way. This further reason was given, that the eldestbeing scarcely fifteen, they were too young to be present on such anoccasion. The only persons remaining by the bedside were theMarchioness de Bouille, the midwife, and the two Quinet girls; thecountess was thus in the hands of her most cruel enemies.

It was seven o'clock in the evening; the labours continued; the elderQuinet girl held the patient by the hand to soothe her. The countand the dowager sent incessantly to know the news. They were toldthat everything was going on well, and that shortly their wisheswould be accomplished; but none of the servants were allowed to enterthe room.

Three hours later, the midwife declared that the countess could nothold out any longer unless she got some rest. She made her swallow aliquor which was introduced into her mouth by spoonfuls. Thecountess fell into so deep a sleep that she seemed to be dead. Theyounger Quinet girl thought for a moment that they had killed her,and wept in a corner of the room, till Madame de Bouille reassuredher.

During this frightful night a shadowy figure prowled in thecorridors, silently patrolled the rooms, and came now and then to thedoor of the bedroom, where he conferred in a low tone with themidwife and the Marchioness de Bouille. This was the Marquis deSaint-Maixent, who gave his orders, encouraged his people, watchedover every point of his plot, himself a prey to the agonies ofnervousness which accompany the preparations for a great crime.

The dowager countess, owing to her great age, had been compelled totake some rest. The count sat up, worn out with fatigue, in adownstairs room hard by that in which they were compassing the ruinof all most dear to him in the world.

The countess, in her profound lethargy, gave birth, without beingaware of it, to a boy, who thus fell on his entry into the world intothe hands of his enemies, his mother powerless to defend him by hercries and tears. The door was half opened, and a man who was waitingoutside brought in; this was the major-domo Baulieu.

The midwife, pretending to afford the first necessary cares to thechild, had taken it into a corner. Baulieu watched her movements,and springing upon her, pinioned her arms. The wretched woman dugher nails into the child's head. He snatched it from her, but thepoor infant for long bore the marks of her claws.

Possibly the Marchioness de Bouille could not nerve herself to thecommission of so great a crime; but it seems more probable that thesteward prevented the destruction of the child under the orders ofM. de Saint-Maixent. The theory is that the marquis, mistrustful ofthe promise made him by Madame de Bouille to marry him after thedeath of her husband, desired to keep the child to oblige her to keepher word, under threats of getting him acknowledged, if she provedfaithless to him. No other adequate reason can be conjectured todetermine a man of his character to take such great care of hisvictim.

Baulieu swaddled the child immediately, put it in a basket, hid itunder his cloak, and went with his prey to find the marquis; theyconferred together for some time, after which the house stewardpassed by a postern gate into the moat, thence to a terrace by whichhe reached a bridge leading into the park. This park had twelvegates, and he had the keys of all. He mounted a blood horse which hehad left waiting behind a wall, and started off at full gallop. Thesame day he passed through the village of Escherolles, a leaguedistant from Saint-Geran, where he stopped at the house of a nurse,wife of a glove-maker named Claude. This peasant woman gave herbreast to the child; but the steward, not daring to stay in a villageso near Saint-Geran, crossed the river Allier at the port de laChaise, and calling at the house of a man named Boucaud, the goodwife suckled the child for the second time; he then continued hisjourney in the direction of Auvergne.

The heat was excessive, his horse was done up, the child seemeduneasy. A carrier's cart passed him going to Riom; it was owned by acertain Paul Boithion of the town of Aigueperce, a common carrier onthe road. Baulieu went alongside to put the child in the cart, whichhe entered himself, carrying the infant on his knees. The horsefollowed, fastened by the bridle to the back of the cart.

In the conversation which he held with this man, Baulieu said that heshould not take so much care of the child did it not belong to themost noble house in the Bourbonnais. They reached the village of Cheat midday. The mistress of the house where he put up, who wasnursing an infant, consented to give some of her milk to the child.The poor creature was covered with blood; she warmed some water,stripped off its swaddling linen, washed it from head to foot, andswathed it up again more neatly.

The carrier then took them to Riom. When they got there, Baulieu gotrid of him by giving a false meeting-place for their departure; leftin the direction of the abbey of Lavoine, and reached the village ofDescoutoux, in the mountains, between Lavoine and Thiers. TheMarchioness de Bouille had a chateau there where she occasionallyspent some time.

The child was nursed at Descoutoux by Gabrielle Moini, who was paid amonth in advance; but she only kept it a week or so, because theyrefused to tell her the father and mother and to refer her to a placewhere she might send reports of her charge. This woman having madethese reasons public, no nurse could be found to take charge of thechild, which was removed from the village of Descoutoux. The personswho removed it took the highroad to Burgundy, crossing a denselywooded country, and here they lost their way.

The above particulars were subsequently proved by the nurses, thecarrier, and others who made legal depositions. They are stated atlength here, as they proved very important in the great lawsuit. Thecompilers of the case, into which we search for information, havehowever omitted to tell us how the absence of the major-domo wasaccounted for at the castle; probably the far-sighted marquis had gotan excuse ready.

The countess's state of drowsiness continued till daybreak. She wokebathed in blood, completely exhausted, but yet with a sensation ofcomfort which convinced her that she had been delivered from herburden. Her first words were about her child; she wished to see it,kiss it; she asked where it was. The midwife coolly told her, whilstthe girls who were by were filled with amazement at her audacity,that she had not been confined at all. The countess maintained thecontrary, and as she grew very excited, the midwife strove to calmher, assuring her that in any case her delivery could not be longprotracted, and that, judging from all the indications of the night,she would give birth to a boy. This promise comforted the count andthe countess dowager, but failed to satisfy the countess, whoinsisted that a child had been born.

The same day a scullery-maid met a woman going to the water's edge inthe castle moat, with a parcel in her arms. She recognised themidwife, and asked what she was carrying and where she was going soearly. The latter replied that she was very inquisitive, and that itwas nothing at all; but the girl, laughingly pretending to be angryat this answer, pulled open one of the ends of the parcel before themidwife had time to stop her, and exposed to view some linen soakedin blood.

"Madame has been confined, then?" she said to the matron.

"No," replied she briskly, "she has not."

The girl was unconvinced, and said, "How do you mean that she hasnot, when madame the marchioness, who was there, says she has?" Thematron in great confusion replied, "She must have a very long tongue,if she said so."

The girl's evidence was later found most important.

The countess's uneasiness made her worse the next day. She imploredwith sighs and tears at least to be told what had become of herchild, steadily maintaining that she was not mistaken when sheassured them that she had given birth to one. The midwife with greateffrontery told her that the new moon was unfavourable to childbirth,and that she must wait for the wane, when it would be easier asmatters were already prepared.

Invalids' fancies do not obtain much credence; still, the persistenceof the countess would have convinced everyone in the long run, hadnot the dowager said that she remembered at the end of the ninthmonth of one of her own pregnancies she had all the premonitorysymptoms of lying in, but they proved false, and in fact theaccouchement took place three months later.

This piece of news inspired great confidence. The marquis and Madamede Bouille did all in their power to confirm it, but the countessobstinately refused to listen to it, and her passionate transports ofgrief gave rise to the greatest anxiety. The midwife, who knew nothow to gain time, and was losing all hope in face of the countess'spersistence, was almost frightened out of her wits; she entered intomedical details, and finally said that some violent exercise must betaken to induce labour. The countess, still unconvinced, refused toobey this order; but the count, the dowager, and all the familyentreated her so earnestly that she gave way.

They put her in a close carriage, and drove her a whole day overploughed fields, by the roughest and hardest roads. She was soshaken that she lost the power of breathing; it required all thestrength of her constitution to support this barbarous treatment inthe delicate condition of a lady so recently confined. They put herto bed again after this cruel drive, and seeing that nobody took herview, she threw herself into the arms of Providence, and consoledherself by religion; the midwife administered violent remedies todeprive her of milk; she got over all these attempts to murder her,and slowly got better.

Time, which heals the deepest affliction, gradually soothed that ofthe countess; her grief nevertheless burst out periodically on theslightest cause; but eventually it died out, till the followingevents rekindled it.

There had been in Paris a fencing-master who used to boast that hehad a brother in the service of a great house. This fencing-masterhad married a certain Marie Pigoreau, daughter of an actor. He hadrecently died in poor circumstances, leaving her a widow with twochildren. This woman Pigoreau did not enjoy the best of characters,and no one knew how she made a living, when all at once, after someshort absences from home and visit from a man who came in theevening, his face muffled in his cloak, she launched out into a moreexpensive style of living; the neighbours saw in her house costlyclothes, fine swaddling-clothes, and at last it became known that shewas nursing a strange child.

About the same time it also transpired that she had a deposit of twothousand livres in the hands of a grocer in the quarter, namedRaguenet; some days later, as the child's baptism had doubtless beenput off for fear of betraying his origin, Pigoreau had him christenedat St. Jean en Greve. She did not invite any of the neighbours tothe function, and gave parents' names of her own choosing at thechurch. For godfather she selected the parish sexton, named PaulMarmiou, who gave the child the name of Bernard. La Pigoreauremained in a confessional during the ceremony, and gave the man tensou. The godmother was Jeanne Chevalier, a poor woman of the parish.

The entry in the register was as follows:-

"On the seventh day of March one thousand six hundred and forty-two was baptized Bernard, son of . . . and . . . his godfather being Paul Marmiou, day labourer and servant of this parish, and his godmother Jeanne Chevalier, widow of Pierre Thibou."

A few days afterwards la Pigoreau put out the child to nurse in thevillage of Torcy en Brie, with a woman who had been her godmother,whose husband was called Paillard. She gave out that it was a childof quality which had been entrusted to her, and that she should nothesitate, if such a thing were necessary, to save its life by theloss of one of her own children. The nurse did not keep it long,because she fell ill; la Pigoreau went to fetch the child away,lamenting this accident, and further saying that she regretted it allthe more, as the nurse would have earned enough to make hercomfortable for the rest of her life. She put the infant out againin the same village, with the widow of a peasant named Marc Peguin.The monthly wage was regularly paid, and the child brought up as oneof rank. La Pigoreau further told the woman that it was the son of agreat nobleman, and would later make the fortunes of those who servedhim. An elderly man, whom the people supposed to be the child'sfather, but who Pigoreau assured them was her brother-in-law, oftencame to see him.

When the child was eighteen months old, la Pigoreau took him away andweaned him. Of the two by her husband the elder was called Antoine,the second would have been called Henri if he had lived; but he wasborn on the 9th of August 1639, after the death of his father, whowas killed in June of the same year, and died shortly after hisbirth. La Pigoreau thought fit to give the name and condition ofthis second son to the stranger, and thus bury for ever the secret ofhis birth. With this end in view, she left the quarter where shelived, and removed to conceal herself in another parish where she wasnot known. The child was brought up under the name and style ofHenri, second son of la Pigoreau, till he was two and a half years ofage; but at this time, whether she was not engaged to keep it anylonger, or whether she had spent the two thousand livres depositedwith the grocer Raguenet, and could get no more from the principals,she determined to get rid of it.

Her gossips used to tell this woman that she cared but little for hereldest son, because she was very confident of the second one makinghis fortune, and that if she were obliged to give up one of them, shehad better keep the younger, who was a beautiful boy. To this shewould reply that the matter did not depend upon her; that the boy'sgodfather was an uncle in good circumstances, who would not chargehimself with any other child. She often mentioned this uncle, herbrother-in-law, she said, who was major-domo in a great house.

One morning, the hall porter at the hotel de Saint-Geran came toBaulieu and told him that a woman carrying a child was asking for himat the wicket gate; this Baulieu was, in fact, the brother of thefencing master, and godfather to Pigoreau's second son. It is nowsupposed that he was the unknown person who had placed the child ofquality with her, and who used to go and see him at his nurse's. LaPigoreau gave him a long account of her situation. The major-domotook the child with some emotion, and told la Pigoreau to wait hisanswer a short distance off, in a place which he pointed out.

Baulieu's wife made a great outcry at the first proposal of anincrease of family; but he succeeded in pacifying her by pointing outthe necessities of his sister-in-law, and how easy and inexpensive itwas to do this good work in such a house as the count's. He went tohis master and mistress to ask permission to bring up this child intheir hotel; a kind of feeling entered into the charge he wasundertaking which in some measure lessened the weight on hisconscience.

The count and countess at first opposed this project; telling himthat having already five children he ought not to burden himself withany more, but he petitioned so earnestly that he obtained what hewanted. The countess wished to see it, and as she was about to startfor Moulins she ordered it to be put in her women's coach; when itwas shown her, she cried out, "What a lovely child!" The boy wasfair, with large blue eyes and very regular features, She gave him ahundred caresses, which the child returned very prettily. She atonce took a great fancy to him, and said to Baulieu, "I shall not puthim in my women's coach; I shall put him in my own."

After they arrived at the chateau of Saint-Geran, her affection forHenri, the name retained by the child, increased day by day. Sheoften contemplated him with sadness, then embraced him withtenderness, and kept him long on her bosom. The count shared thisaffection for the supposed nephew of Baulieu, who was adopted, so tospeak, and brought up like a child of quality.

The Marquis de Saint-Maixent and Madame de Bouille had not married,although the old Marquis de Bouille had long been dead. It appearedthat they had given up this scheme. The marchioness no doubt feltscruples about it, and the marquis was deterred from marriage by hisprofligate habits. It is moreover supposed that other engagementsand heavy bribes compensated the loss he derived from themarchioness's breach of faith.

He was a man about town at that period, and was making love to thedemoiselle Jacqueline de la Garde; he had succeeded in gaining heraffections, and brought matters to such a point that she no longerrefused her favours except on the grounds of her pregnancy and thedanger of an indiscretion. The marquis then offered to introduce toher a matron who could deliver women without the pangs of labour, andwho had a very successful practice. The same Jacqueline de la Gardefurther gave evidence at the trial that M. de Saint-Maixent had oftenboasted, as of a scientific intrigue, of having spirited away the sonof a governor of a province and grandson of a marshal of France; thathe spoke of the Marchioness de Bouille, said that he had made herrich, and that it was to him she owed her great wealth; and further,that one day having taken her to a pretty country seat which belongedto him, she praised its beauty, saying "c'etait un beau lieu"; hereplied by a pun on a man's name, saying that he knew another Baulieuwho had enabled him to make a fortune of five hundred thousandcrowns. He also said to Jadelon, sieur de la Barbesange, whenposting with him from Paris, that the Countess de Saint-Geran hadbeen delivered of a son who was in his power.

The marquis had not seen Madame de Bouille for a long time; a commondanger reunited them. They had both learned with terror the presenceof Henri at the hotel de Saint-Geran. They consulted about this; themarquis undertook to cut the danger short. However, he dared put inpractice nothing overtly against the child, a matter still moredifficult just then, inasmuch as some particulars of hisdiscreditable adventures had leaked out, and the Saint-Geran familyreceived him more than coldly.

Baulieu, who witnessed every day the tenderness of the count andcountess for the boy Henri, had been a hundred times on the point ofgiving himself up and confessing everything. He was torn to pieceswith remorse. Remarks escaped him which he thought he might makewithout ulterior consequences; seeing the lapse of time, but theywere noted and commented on. Sometimes he would say that he held inhis hand the life and honour of Madame the Marchioness de Bouille;sometimes that the count and countess had more reasons than they knewof for loving Henri. One day he put a case of conscience to aconfessor, thus: "Whether a man who had been concerned in theabduction of a child could not satisfy his conscience by restoringhim to his father and mother without telling them who he was?" Whatanswer the confessor made is not known, but apparently it was notwhat the major-domo wanted. He replied to a magistrate of Moulins,who congratulated him on having a nephew whom his mastersoverburdened with kind treatment, that they ought to love him, sincehe was nearly related to them.

These remarks were noticed by others than those principallyconcerned. One day a wine merchant came to propose to Baulieu thepurchase of a pipe of Spanish wine, of which he gave him a samplebottle; in the evening he was taken violently ill. They carried himto bed, where he writhed, uttering horrible cries. One sole thoughtpossessed him when his sufferings left him a lucid interval, and inhis agony he repeated over and over again that he wished to implorepardon from the count and countess for a great injury which he haddone them. The people round about him told him that was a trifle,and that he ought not to let it embitter his last moments, but hebegged so piteously that he got them to promise that they should besent for.

The count thought it was some trifling irregularity, somemisappropriation in the house accounts; and fearing to hasten thedeath of the sufferer by the shame of the confession of a fault, hesent word that he heartily forgave him, that he might die tranquil,and refused to see him. Baulieu expired, taking his secret with him.This happened in 1648.

The child was then seven years old. His charming manners grew withhis age, and the count and countess felt their love for him increase.They caused him to be taught dancing and fencing, put him intobreeches and hose, and a page's suit of their livery, in whichcapacity he served them. The marquis turned his attack to thisquarter. He was doubtless preparing some plot as criminal as thepreceding, when justice overtook him for some other great crimes ofwhich he had been guilty. He was arrested one day in the street whenconversing with one of the Saint-Geran footmen, and taken to theConciergerie of the Palace of Justice.

Whether owing to these occurrences, or to grounds for suspicionbefore mentioned, certain reports spread in the Bourbonnais embodyingsome of the real facts; portions of them reached the ears of thecount and countess, but they had only the effect of renewing theirgrief without furnishing a clue to the truth.

Meanwhile, the count went to take the waters at Vichy. The countessand Madame de Bouille followed him, and there they chanced toencounter Louise Goillard, the midwife. This woman renewed heracquaintance with the house, and in particular often visited theMarchioness de Bouille. One day the countess, unexpectedly enteringthe marchioness's room, found them both conversing in an undertone.They stopped talking immediately, and appeared disconcerted.

The countess noticed this without attaching any importance to it, andasked the subject of their conversation.

"Oh, nothing," said the marchioness.

"But what is it?" insisted the countess, seeing that she blushed.

The marchioness, no longer able to evade the question, and feelingher difficulties increase, replied--

"Dame Louise is praising my brother for bearing no ill-will to her."

"Why?" said the countess, turning to the midwife,--"why should youfear any ill-will on the part of my husband?"

"I was afraid," said Louise Goillard awkwardly, "that he might havetaken a dislike to me on account of all that happened when youexpected to be confined."

The obscurity of these words and embarrassment of the two womenproduced a lively effect upon the countess; but she controlledherself and let the subject drop. Her agitation, however, did notescape the notice of the marchioness, who the next day had horses putto her coach and retired to hey estate of Lavoine. This clumsyproceeding strengthened suspicion.

The first determination of the countess was to arrest LouiseGoillard; but she saw that in so serious a matter every step must betaken with precaution. She consulted the count and the countessdowager. They quietly summoned the midwife, to question her withoutany preliminaries. She prevaricated and contradicted herself overand over again; moreover, her state of terror alone sufficed toconvict her of a crime. They handed her over to the law, and theCount de Saint-Geran filed an information before the vice-seneschalof Moulins.

The midwife underwent a first interrogatory. She confessed the truthof the accouchement, but she added that the countess had given birthto a still-born daughter, which she had buried under a stone near thestep of the barn in the back yard. The judge, accompanied by aphysician and a surgeon, repaired to the place, where he foundneither stone, nor foetus, nor any indications of an interment. Theysearched unsuccessfully in other places.

When the dowager countess heard this statement, she demanded thatthis horrible woman should be put on her trial. The civillieutenant, in the absence of the criminal lieutenant, commenced theproceedings.

In a second interrogation, Louise Goillard positively declared thatthe countess had never been confined;

In a third, that she had been delivered of a mole;

In a fourth, that she had been confined of a male infant, whichBaulieu had carried away in a basket;

And in a fifth, in which she answered from the dock, she maintainedthat her evidence of the countess's accouchement had been extortedfrom her by violence. She made no charges against either Madame deBouille or the Marquis de Saint Maixent. On the other hand, nosooner was she under lock and key than she despatched her sonGuillemin to the marchioness to inform her that she was arrested.The marchioness recognised how threatening things were, and was in astate of consternation; she immediately sent the sieur de laForesterie, her steward, to the lieutenant-general, her counsel,a mortal enemy of the count, that he might advise her in thisconjuncture, and suggest a means for helping the matron withoutappearing openly in the matter. The lieutenant's advice was to quashthe proceedings and obtain an injunction against the continuance ofthe preliminaries to the action. The marchioness spent a large sumof money, and obtained this injunction; but it was immediatelyreversed, and the bar to the suit removed.

La Foresterie was then ordered to pass to Riom, where the sistersQuinet lived, and to bribe them heavily to secrecy. The elder one,on leaving the marchioness's service, had shaken her fist in herface, feeling secure with the secrets in her knowledge, and told herthat she would repent having dismissed her and her sister, and thatshe would make a clean breast of the whole affair, even were she tobe hung first. These girls then sent word that they wished to enterher service again; that the countess had promised them handsome termsif they would speak; and that they had even been questioned in hername by a Capuchin superior, but that they said nothing, in order togive time to prepare an answer for them. The marchioness foundherself obliged to take back the girls; she kept the younger, andmarried the elder to Delisle, her house steward. But la Foresterie,finding himself in this network of intrigue, grew disgusted atserving such a mistress, and left her house. The marchioness toldhim on his departure that if he were so indiscreet as to repeat aword of what he had learned from the Quinet girls, she would punishhim with a hundred poniard stabs from her major-domo Delisle. Havingthus fortified her position, she thought herself secure against anyhostile steps; but it happened that a certain prudent Berger,gentleman and page to the Marquis de Saint-Maixent, who enjoyed hismaster's confidence and went to see him in the Conciergerie, where hewas imprisoned, threw some strange light on this affair. His masterhad narrated to him all the particulars of the accouchement of thecountess and of the abduction of the child.

"I am astonished, my lord," replied the page, "that having so manydangerous affairs on hand; you did not relieve your conscience ofthis one."

"I intend," replied the marquis, "to restore this child to hisfather: I have been ordered to do so by a Capuchin to whom Iconfessed having carried off from the midst of the family, withouttheir knowing it, a grandson of a marshal of France and son of agovernor of a province."

The marquis had at that time permission to go out from prisonoccasionally on his parole. This will not surprise anyone acquaintedwith the ideas which prevailed at that period on the honour of anobleman, even the greatest criminal. The marquis, profiting by thisfacility, took the page to see a child of about seven years of age,fair and with a beautiful countenance.

"Page," said he, "look well at this child, so that you may know himagain when I shall send you to inquire about him."

He then informed him that this was the Count de Saint-Geran's sonwhom he had carried away.

Information of these matters coming to the ears of justice, decisiveproofs were hoped for; but this happened just when other criminalinformations were lodged against the marquis, which left him helplessto prevent the exposure of his crimes. Police officers weredespatched in all haste to the Conciergerie; they were stopped by thegaolers, who told them that the marquis, feeling ill, was engagedwith a priest who was administering the sacraments, to him. As theyinsisted on seeing him; the warders approached the cell: the priestcame out, crying that persons must be sought to whom the sick man hada secret to reveal; that he was in a desperate state, and said he hadjust poisoned himself; all entered the cell.

M. de Saint-Maixent was writhing on a pallet, in a pitiablecondition, sometimes shrieking like a wild beast, sometimesstammering disconnected words. All that the officers could hear was

"Send for the countess . . . let them forgive me . . . I wishto tell them everything." The police officers asked him to speak;one even told him that the count was there. The marquis feeblymurmured--

"I am going to tell you----" Then he gave a loud cry and fell backdead.

It thus seemed as if fate took pains to close every mouth from whichthe truth might escape. Still, this avowal of a deathbed revelationto be made to the Count de Saint-Geran and the deposition of thepriest who had administered the last sacraments formed a strong linkin the chain of evidence.

The judge of first instruction, collecting all the information he hadgot, made a report the weight of which was overwhelming. Thecarters, the nurse, the domestic servants, all gave accountsconsistent with each other; the route and the various adventures ofthe child were plainly detailed, from its birth till its arrival atthe village of Descoutoux.

Justice, thus tracing crime to its sources, had no option but toissue a warrant for the arrest of the Marchioness de Bouilie; but itseems probable that it was not served owing to the strenuous effortsof the Count de Saint-Geran, who could not bring himself to ruin hissister, seeing that her dishonour would have been reflected on him.The marchioness hid her remorse in solitude, and appeared again nomore. She died shortly after, carrying the weight of her secret tillshe drew her last breath.

The judge of Moulins at length pronounced sentence on the midwife,whom he declared arraigned and convicted of having suppressed thechild born to the countess; for which he condemned her to be torturedand then hanged. The matron lodged an appeal against this sentence,and the case was referred to the Conciergerie.

No sooner had the count and countess seen the successive proofs ofthe procedure, than tenderness and natural feelings accomplished therest. They no longer doubted that their page was their son; theystripped him at once of his livery and gave him his rank andprerogatives, under the title of the Count de la Palice.

Meanwhile, a private person named Sequeville informed the countessthat he had made a very important discovery; that a child had beenbaptized in 1642 at St. Jean-en-Greve, and that a woman named MariePigoreau had taken a leading part in the affair. Thereupon inquirieswere made, and it was discovered that this child had been nursed inthe village of Torcy. The count obtained a warrant which enabled himto get evidence before the judge of Torcy; nothing was left undone toelicit the whole truth; he also obtained a warrant through which heobtained more information, and published a monitory. The elder ofthe Quinet girls on this told the Marquis de Canillac that the countwas searching at a distance for things very near him. The truthshone out with great lustre through these new facts which gushed fromall this fresh information. The child, exhibited in the presence ofa legal commissary to the nurses and witnesses of Torcy, wasidentified, as much by the scars left by the midwife's nails on hishead, as by his fair hair and blue eyes. This ineffaceable vestigeof the woman's cruelty was the principal proof; the witnessestestified that la Pigoreau, when she visited this child with a manwho appeared to be of condition, always asserted that he was the sonof a great nobleman who had been entrusted to her care, and that shehoped he would make her fortune and that of those who had reared him.

The child's godfather, Paul Marmiou, a common labourer; the grocerRaguenet, who had charge of the two thousand livres; the servant ofla Pigoreau, who had heard her say that the count was obliged to takethis child; the witnesses who proved that la Pigoreau had told themthat the child was too well born to wear a page's livery, allfurnished convincing proofs; but others were forthcoming.

It was at la Pigoreau's that the Marquis de Saint-Maixent, livingthen at the hotel de Saint-Geran, went to see the child, kept in herhouse as if it were hers; Prudent Berger, the marquis's page,perfectly well remembered la Pigoreau, and also the child, whom hehad seen at her house and whose history the marquis had related tohim. Finally, many other witnesses heard in the course of the case,both before the three chambers of nobles, clergy, and the tiers etat,and before the judges of Torcy, Cusset, and other local magistrates,made the facts so clear and conclusive in favour of the legitimacy ofthe young count, that it was impossible to avoid impeaching theguilty parties. The count ordered the summons in person of laPigoreau, who had not been compromised in the original preliminaryproceedings. This drastic measure threw the intriguing woman on herbeam ends, but she strove hard to right herself.

The widowed Duchess de Ventadour, daughter by her mother's secondmarriage of the Countess dowager of Saint-Geran, and half-sister ofthe count, and the Countess de Lude, daughter of the Marchioness deBouille, from whom the young count carried away the Saint-Geraninheritance, were very warm in the matter, and spoke of disputing thejudgment. La Pigoreau went to see them, and joined in concert withthem.

Then commenced this famous lawsuit, which long occupied all France,and is parallel in some respects, but not in the time occupied in thehearing, to the case heard by Solomon, in which one child was claimedby two mothers.

The Marquis de Saint-Maixent and Madame de Bouille being dead, werenaturally no parties to the suit, which was fought against theSaint-Geran family by la Pigoreau and Mesdames du Lude and deVentadour. These ladies no doubt acted in good faith, at first atany rate, in refusing to believe the crime; for if they hadoriginally known the truth it is incredible that they could havefought the case so long aid so obstinately.

They first of all went to the aid of the midwife, who had fallen sickin prison; they then consulted together, and resolved as follows: